


this state of high alert

by keptein



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, set pre-25
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:50:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keptein/pseuds/keptein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil worries that Carlos isn't terrified enough of Night Vale, and resolves to fix that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this state of high alert

**Author's Note:**

> welp, this fandom pulled me in and it won't let go. hand-wavy about where exactly this goes in canon, but it's definitely before _one year later_. thanks to [rin](http://bitcheslovepuns.tumblr.com) for calming me down about the quality of this thing. the title is from the following quote by arundhati roy, which really has nothing at all to do with this fic: “have we raised the threshold of horror so high that nothing short of a nuclear strike qualifies as a 'real' war? are we to spend the rest of our lives in this state of high alert with guns pointed at each other's heads and fingers trembling on the trigger?”

Carlos is not the first scientist Night Vale has ever seen. Far from it – every couple of years, a new batch of them stumble onto Night Vale’s scorching pavement, scientific instruments grasped tightly in their fists, eyes greedily drinking in the mysteries held within the small desert community.

Time and time again, Cecil has met these scientists, and he has seen their glaring deficit, the same lack that inevitably leads to their death a short time after their arrival: they are not terrified.

Terror is a paramount aspect of survival in Night Vale, and these scientists have all been too obsessed with the idea of Night Vale for the reality to terrify them; Night Vale has been trivialized, even as they gasp and shudder over Abe McDaniels, Hiram’s father, or the chimeras they used to keep in the zoo. Night Vale knows, and Night Vale revolts, and come Valentine’s Day, the scientists would still run into the street, shouting about readings before getting an arrow through the eye. Cecil – along with the rest of Night Vale – has learned not to get too attached to these scientists.

Then comes along Carlos, and Cecil forgets everything he’s been taught.

*

There is no terror in Carlos’s eyes, Cecil immediately notices the first time he sees him. Cecil notices, and despairs, purely because a mane as majestic as Carlos’s – stunning in its perfection – would be a loss to the entire world when Carlos’s “science high” got the best of him.

But then Carlos makes a visit to the studio with his instrument, and looks nervous when it goes haywire, and Cecil’s heart lifts – not only because Carlos has _come to the studio_ , but because maybe that nervousness on Carlos’s face can learn to grow into something more.

*

Cecil is not quite sure how to make Carlos grasp the fear and true _awesomeness_ of Night Vale, so he goes to Old Woman Josie for advice. The angels are milling around on her property, and he greets each one pleasantly with “Hello, Erika,” even as he only gets huffs in response.

“Oh, don’t mind them,” Old Woman Josie says, waving a wrinkled hand. “There was another letter from the City Council this morning.”

“Oh,” Cecil says. He has enough problems with his own existence some days, and the City Council aren’t even actively denying it – not any more, anyway.

“So,” Old Woman Josie says, after she’s prepared them garden parsley tea with help from Erika (and absolutely none from Cecil, despite his offering), “this is about the scientist?”

“I just want him to _get it,_ Josie,” Cecil bemoans, taking a sip of the piping hot tea. “He’s just so _beautiful_.”

“We could all hear that,” Old Woman Josie says, giving him a wink. “But this is the way things are, Cecil, you know that. These scientists don’t get it, they never do.”

“Robert Pearson did,” Cecil points out – he looked through the archives.

“After being decapitated,” Old Woman Josie reminds him, drinking of her own cup. “You can’t count on things like that. And Robert Pearson was taken by the Red Horse a couple of weeks back.”

“Oh,” Cecil says weakly. They’re sitting by Old Woman Josie’s new porch light, and it’s just dark enough that Erika turns it on with a blink of their eyes.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Old Woman Josie coos to them.

“I want to show it to him,” Cecil says resolutely, after a brief silence.

“Oh, Cecil,” Old Woman Josie says, aged and wise. “He might leave.”

“That would be better,” Cecil replies, even as his heart clenches at the very idea.

Old Woman Josie frowns, her ancient face lined with pity. “Good luck,” she says, and pats Cecil’s hand sympathetically.

*

Cecil can’t bring himself to do it immediately, wants to enjoy Carlos’s everything some more – he gives him his _home_ phone number, telling himself that he’ll do it once Carlos calls. And then Carlos doesn’t call, and that’s _fine_ , because he’s probably really busy with all that science, and Cecil still sees him around on mandatory City Council info meetings or even at Ralphs sometimes, looking bleary-eyed and tempting in the harsh light of the dairy section.

And then he _does_ call, ostensibly to inform about temporal shifts, and Cecil is so overcome that he kind of forgets the entire thing. Carlos has become better, too, even though Cecil hasn’t seen him standing around screaming in Mission Grove Park (yet). Then Valentine’s Day is upon them, and Cecil is abruptly reminded as a member of Carlos’s science team runs into the street, saying she’ll only gather _a little_ data before her throat is filled with candy hearts, suffocating her to death.

It could easily have been Carlos.

*

Cecil doesn’t know whether to call Carlos or visit his lab. He doesn’t want to _presume_ anything, but Carlos might not understand the severity of what Cecil wants to show him over the phone.

He spends a day and a half procrastinating by reading everything the newest intern has ever tweeted, and then sits down and gives himself a pep-talk for the benefit of both him and his surveillance officer – Cecil sitting around staring at his laptop can’t be that interesting, after all. Then he finally makes the drive over.

Cecil feels inexplicably nervous standing in front of the door, and he straightens his tie, pushes his cardigan up to his elbows before dragging the sleeves back down. Shaking his head, he inhales sharply and knocks.

The man who opens the door is not Carlos. It’s Tom, another scientist, whose lab coat is not as immaculate and perfect as Carlos’s. “Cecil!” he exclaims. “Hold on, I’ll fetch Carlos for you.”

“Thank you,” Cecil says, fighting a blush as he hears Tom yell, “Carlos! Your number one fan is here!”

Carlos appears in the doorway, says “Cecil?” in a questioning tone. His cheeks are touched by red as well, and they’re covered in a five o’clock shadow that he wears incredibly well. He looks tired, but still beautiful – Cecil can only wonder at the luck of his fellow scientists, who get to see the minute changes to his appearance throughout the day, get to look at him and talk to him and everything. Carlos repeats his name, and Cecil snaps out of it. “What’s wrong? Has there been an outbreak again?”

“No,” Cecil says. “I have something to show you – is that okay?” He rubs his sweaty palms against his pants.

Carlos frowns, and Cecil despairs to see it. “Well, uh – will it take long? I’ve got experiments –“

“Not very,” Cecil says hurriedly, accidentally interrupting him. “I’m sorry, I –“

“It’s fine,” Carlos says, and then they stand there in an awkward silence, both looking at the ground.

“We – we have to drive there, so if you –“ Cecil gestures at his car, and wonders where is ability to finish sentences went.

“Yeah, okay,” Carlos says quickly, and he steps outside, the door closing on a garbled noise shouted from inside the lab.

They get into the car, and Cecil’s hands keep shifting on the steering wheel. The voice of Night Vale he may be, but his mind is completely empty of things to say – he doesn’t really trust himself, either, not after “Neat!”.

“So, where are we going?” Carlos asks, studying the buildings they drive past.

“The abandoned El Dorado Fun Fair, it’s by the Eastern Expressway,” Cecil explains.

“Okay,” Carlos says slowly, looking wary. “Why?”

Cecil takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. “Night Vale,” he begins, “is a place to be feared. It is a place to be respected. When we tell ourselves that we know all there is to know about the universe, Night Vale is here to tell us that no, we don’t. It is an unyielding riddle in a world quickly losing its mystery.” Cecil glances over at Carlos for a quick second, and the smooth, calm quality of his voice gets slightly agitated.  “Citizens of Night Vale – we take pride in our little desert community, but we are also terrified of what it hides. Everyone … except the scientists.”

“Hold on,” Carlos says. Cecil takes a left off the Expressway and parks, killing the engine. Its dying moan is fainter than usual, and Cecil makes a mental note to get that looked at. “What are you saying, exactly?”

“Terror is an essential part of survival here,” Cecil says, a little frustrated. “Have you read about the scientist crews preceding you? Hypothesize.”

“A lot of them are dead,” Carlos says, then understanding strikes. “So you want to make sure I’m terrified enough?” The look he gives the fun fair is a lot more apprehensive this time around.

Cecil nods. “I promise you, Carlos, I will protect you. I can’t have you –“ he shifts in his seat and grips Carlos’s arm. “You can’t die. I will make sure.”

Carlos looks down at Cecil’s hand around his wrist. “Is there any way for me to convince you I’m plenty terrified enough?”

Cecil looks into his eyes for a long moment, then presses his lips together and shakes his head.

Carlos sighs. “I thought not.” He looks out the window again, and his expression grows determined. “Let’s do this.” He hesitates a second before getting out of the car, looking down at Cecil’s hand again, and Cecil immediately lets go.

It’s still light enough out that they don’t have any problems seeing the path in front of them, but the night time chill is edging in, lurking around the corner. Cecil pulls on the edge of his cardigan, acutely aware of Carlos walking beside him. They’ve never been alone together before, not like this, and Cecil’s entire body is bubbling with joy, despite the horrors that await.

The old clowns at the entrance, their wide grins still shining red, make Cecil smile, but Carlos pauses as if to steel himself. He mouths something to himself that Cecil can’t hear and looks over at him. Cecil pats his arm and leads them through the entrance.

The abandoned fun fair looks as it always has – paint and posters peeling off rotting booths, garish letters on signs flaking away. There’s the odd creaking of rusty hinges, and a faint sense of foreboding in the air. All in all, rather pleasant, Cecil thinks. It’s a shame.

They stop in front of an elongated tent. “This is the one,” Cecil says.

Carlos eyes the tent with trepidation and – yes, Cecil is ecstatic to see – faint terror. “Can whatever’s in there eat me?” he asks, after biting back several words.

“No,” Cecil replies.

“Okay. Let’s do this,” he says again, puffing up his chest and taking Cecil’s hand as they step inside.

The tent is illuminated by the same dusk light as outside, outlining their figures clearly, and Cecil can’t help but gulp at what greets them inside the tent. So much worse than he remembered, silhouettes grotesque, misshapen, Carlos is going to leave Night Vale and never look back, Carlos, Carlos whose hand is still holding his own –

Cecil turns to see how Carlos is doing, and sees with worry that his face is turning red. “Cecil …”

“Yes?” Cecil replies, hardly daring to breathe.

“ _This_ is Night Vale’s scariest place?” Carlos barely finishes the sentence before he bursts, laughter loud and uncontrollable, peals of it echoing throughout the tent. “These are _fun house mirrors_!”

Cecil is deeply aware of that, yes, of the cruel name for these monstrosities. He keeps looking at Carlos, because studying the brightness of his smile is infinitely preferable to looking at the warped shadows surrounding them. He squashes the urge to pat at his own appendages to check, to prove the insisting reflections wrong – that’s _not how he looks_ , he repeats to himself, fighting against the growing doubt.

“They’re _harmless_ ,” Carlos continues when he finally gets his laughter under control, his smile still brilliant and his eyes soft as they regard Cecil. Cecil is struck speechless – by the sight, yes, but mainly by Carlos’s reaction. Carlos sees his gaping and raises one hand – the other still clasped tightly by Cecil – to rest on Cecil’s neck and bring their foreheads together. “Oh, Cecil,” he murmurs. The sound of it makes every hair on Cecil’s body stand up. “They can’t hurt you – they amuse children. That’s it, that’s all they do.”

“But – can’t you _see_?” Cecil asks, panicked, embarrassed at the way his voice breaks on the last word. “The – it’s not you or me, it’s something else. Something _terrible_.”

“It’s just a distorted reflection,” Carlos says, moving away to encompass the mirrors. Cecil misses him immediately. “They’re curved mirrors, and because the angle of incidence equals the angle of reflection – see, this one makes you short. This one makes you tall. It’s a cheap parlor trick, manipulation of light – nothing else. I can even –“ he reaches out to touch the mirror he’s standing in front of, and Cecil flinches violently, closes his eyes in a hurry.

Nothing happens. He cracks one eye open and finds Carlos grinning at him, traces of that science high in the flush of his cheeks. He beckons Cecil over and takes his hand again, laying it flat against the cold surface. Again, nothing happens. Cecil is _fascinated_ , wide eyes taking in Carlos’s hand on top of his own and the reflection beyond it, the mangled shapes growing predictable as he observes them. He’s almost afraid to break the moment, but the view still unnerves him. Without a word, he steps back and drags Carlos after him out the entrance, breathing easier once they’re outside. The sun has passed completely, but the moonlight glints in Carlos’s eyes and catches in the few silver strands of his hair.

“If that’s Night Vale’s worst, I think I’ll be okay,” he says, smiling crookedly. Cecil can only nod, gazing at him, and Carlos reddens, looks away. “So, you’re really all terrified, huh?”

“Deathly,” Cecil replies, licking his lips. Carlos’s keen scientist eyes track the movement. He laughs a little, stiltedly.

“You wouldn’t think it. You’re all so nonchalant about it.”

“Except in Mission Grove Park,” Cecil corrects him, stepping a little closer. Carlos hums.

“Except in Mission Grove Park,” he allows. His arms settle lightly, uncertainly, on Cecil’s waist.

“You’re really frightened, then? Of Night Vale? You promise?” Cecil asks, eyes fastened on Carlos’s lower lip.

“I promise,” Carlos says, and the impending kiss feels like an inevitability, like a fundamental piece of the universe, just waiting to be discovered. Cecil’s eyes fall shut – “Wait!” Carlos exclaims, moving back. “My experiments, Cecil, shit! You have to drive me back to the lab immediately, oh, no, they’re going to be ruined –“ Carlos runs a hand through his hair, looking harried and apologetic.

“Oh, yes, let’s,” Cecil says, startling into action, and he avoids Carlos’s eyes as they get back into the car, not trusting what he’ll do if he meets them.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos says miserably from the passenger seat as they start driving, and Cecil can’t resist looking over at him.

“It’s fine,” he says, and it is. It really is.

*

_“Listeners, the Sheriff’s Secret Police would like to remind you that all visits outside the immediate Night Vale area need to be scheduled and cleared with your surveillance officer in advance. This is for your own protection, and to make the job of the Secret Police easier. Simply tell your plans into your phone or thin air, whatever is your preference, and the Secret Police will send you a sign of acknowledgement. These signs will usually be buried in the soil of your potted plants._

_“Dear listeners, it may seem like the terrors of the world are huge, monstrous, insurmountable obstacles to your life, but remember … sometimes what appears terrifying is simply harmless, and just as afraid of you as you are of it. We cannot know what the world has in store for us, we can simply wait, and fortify the walls we live in. Do not fear fear – embrace it. Love it. Take it out for walks in the park, or go to the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex together. You deserve it. Good night, Night Vale. Good night.”_

**Author's Note:**

> (and, as always, you can find me - and probably definitely more night vale fic to come - on [tumblr](http://keptein.tumblr.com).)


End file.
